


I'd Say, Cheers To That!

by dreamingdream



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band), NCT Dream
Genre: Cute Mark Lee (NCT), F/M, Fluff, Gen, Mark Lee (NCT) is Whipped, Mark Lee x Reader, Soft Mark Lee (NCT), Sweet Mark Lee (NCT), Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25548727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingdream/pseuds/dreamingdream
Summary: Drunk you is insufferable but lucky for Mark Lee, drunk you is a painfully honest version of you.orIn which Mark has two brain cells - one for you and another one is full of you.
Relationships: Mark Lee (NCT) & Reader, Mark Lee (NCT)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 84





	I'd Say, Cheers To That!

At the constant ripple of vibration from under his pillow, Mark Lee, never in his life considered bloody murder at the expense of his sweet, well-earned sleep, but here he is; glowering at the glaring blue light of his screen, his rage taking form in furrowed brows and red-tinged neck. Mark never liked post-mid-terms festivities.

“Of course it’s her.” He breathes out, sleep still evident in its wake, but the name in big bold letters infuriated him even more. Specifically: your name. Your name annoyed the daylights out of him far more than he lets on, but despite his toes curling, and despite the efforts of his warm and inviting blankets, he can never refuse you.

Or, maybe because Mark was sure that he won’t get another blink of sleep if he decides to sleep in and leave you to tend after yourself.

“Goddamn you, Y/n,” Mark answers your call with a big sigh of disappointment; for you or for his unbending will when it comes to you – he isn’t sure. He just hopes that this time, you aren’t drunk enough to puke on him, or worse, refuse to go home with him.

You were silent when he finally picked up, eerily silent after fifteen missed calls and ten drunken texts in the short span of eight minutes. Only the loud music from the club can be heard accompanied by your heavy breathing. Mark’s brows furrow even deeper into his forehead.

Four years of friendship and Mark still finds it hard to understand you. He doesn’t understand why you always go on drinking sprees after big tests. And he doesn’t understand how you always call for him after getting hammered down from too much vodka shots.

Finally, he finds the courage to speak, “Hello? Are you there?”

Okay, he admits, that was bad, but with sweat accumulating in his hands and the sudden tension that he wasn’t aware of; he can only stutter what he comprehends are the right words to say to a drunk woman.

And then your loud wheezing comes.

It wasn’t noticeable at first and then gradually, your giggling had turned into a full-blown choking parade. You sounded like a dying weasel. Mark hated how he found such horrendous sound cute. “What the fuck are you laughing at?”

“I don’t know, but someone sexy needs your help.” Your words came out like a sob. Mark wonders if your mid-terms were that bad for you to gobble down alcohol past to your limit, and then he wonders what his responsibilities are for him to tend after you whenever your system runs on alcohol, whenever your ugly tears are the first thing he sees and whenever you needed a friend as a getaway car for your failed blind dates.

Is Mark your boyfriend? Oh god, no, but why does he feel like one? Does he see you as one? _Bullshit._

No, Mark will always be the same boy you have befriended four years ago after seeing him alone. The same boy you turn to whenever you think your essays can never get as bad as it already is. Mark will always be the same boy you call your best friend. But despite red warning signs in bold, the same color of red had bloomed across the expanse of his pale cheeks. _No,_ Mark thinks, _it’s the lack of sleep._

“Mark? You breathe?”

“Uh… what?”

Reality once again slaps him across his face as he remembers why you called him in the first place. “Someone sexy needs your help!”

“And you expect me to believe that someone sexy is you?” An indignant sigh comes out of Mark’s lips. Really, it isn’t the right time to joke with you especially when your words are dragged out like a child and you’ll have no recollection of this conversation after tucking you under your blankets, but how can he not when his eccentric best friend is painfully honest when drunk?

A huff from your line and then, “No. But hey, give it to me, I don’t want to inflate your ego as much it already is.”

Mark stifles a laugh, just imagining your pout that would rival that of a petulant child enough to make him smile. “Alright. Text me the address of the club you’re in and please, don’t do anything stupid before I get there.”

“Fine, sexy.”

**.**

Mark doesn’t know when he started seeing you under a different light.

Was it when you forced him to join the clean-up drive down the beach after seeing a post on Facebook? Or when you adopted Johnny’s puppy after seeing the poor guy almost get kicked out of his home for breaking rules? Or, was it because you’ve always got Mark’s back as he does yours?

He narrowed it down to a block, and maybe, his heart had always thumped a beat faster when he first met you.

But right now, under the ugly red, green neon lights of the club, around the artificial smoke that surrounded you and the sweaty bodies grinding against each other, Mark had narrowed it down once again, and he was sure - his chest might explode the way fireworks do at the simple sight of you.

You weren’t hard to spot, your shoulders are hunched from behind the counter, fingers tracing circles against your empty glass. The bartender speaks as to what Mark assumes as ‘any more _drinks ma’am?’_ which you answer with a subtle shake of your head as no. And then, your eyes met Mark’s.

Okay, maybe you didn’t look good as you might’ve when you first arrived at the club, maybe your droopy eyes and the smell of rancid liquor had drowned out the perfume you only use when going out, but holy shit, Mark can’t believe he just lost the ability to speak.

“Oh? Mark!” Your voice brings him out of his daze and you immediately launch yourself at him with a big hug, cold arms a big contrast to his warm body. You then turn towards the bartender, big goofy smile sprawled across your face, and “he’s paying.”

The shock in Mark’s face didn’t go unnoticed and he painfully had to hold in a whimper as he says goodbye to his money once the bartender hands him back his card. A sigh leaves Mark’s mouth, hands curling around you in pain and he swears; he would’ve slapped the living daylights out of you if he didn’t see you pout like a child at his frown.

“Why so sad?” You blurted out, clutching Mark’s waist as support as he helps guide you out of the club. You smiled cheekily at the sudden wave of fresh air once you were out and Mark had to stop himself from squishing your cheeks.

“You just drained me out of my funds.” Your laugh vibrated against Mark. This would look good in his memory – you latched around him like a baby, eyes set on Mark like the eerie atmosphere of the empty street didn’t scare you - only if he didn’t lose a hundred bucks at your expense.

“I’m sorry but hey, carry me on your back?” Another sigh escapes Mark. Despite it being two in the morning, cold air nipping hard against both of your skin and your apartment a kilometer away in his steps, Mark never found the courage to say no. You happily clamber around Mark, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, arms curled in his neck and head nuzzled deep in his broad shoulders.

The club is now a distant memory, only the bass of the music resonating around the street, and then you giggled so hard that Mark wonders if he should drop you this instant.

“What now?”

You stopped giggling and hum in silence, debating if you should talk or not, but you go for it anyways. “What will you do if I tell you I hate you?”

Mark doesn’t stop walking, shaking it off as one of your drunk existential crisis, but instead of replying, he shoots your question back at you. “What will you do if I tell you I hate you?”

A comforting silence, then:

“I’d kiss you so you’ll un-hate me.”

And Mark forgets you can get honest, way too honest for your own good when drunk. So when your shy words left your lips, the red flowers in Mark’s cheeks didn’t do justice for what he felt.

Maybe, this time around, he’s more than just a best friend to your eyes, he’s much more to you than sober you would like to admit.

“I hate you,” Mark says with a shy smile gracing his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! jdsbdsfj this is my frist time posting my work online and i am beyond nervous??? KDHDK i hope you like it or else huhu pls do leave your thoughts and help me improve my writing!!! thank you!!! (not edited so im deeply sorry for the mistakes)


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